


Survivor [n.romanoff]

by allie_carrot



Series: City of the Broken [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Ballet, Child Abuse, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Avengers, Foster Care, Gen, Homelessness, Hydra (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, New York City, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Original Character Death(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Phil Coulson, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Red Room (Marvel), SHIELD, Sexual Assault, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allie_carrot/pseuds/allie_carrot
Summary: "The ceremony is necessary for you to take your place in the world.""I have no place in the world.""Exactly."Those are the words every Red Room girl has had to listen to since the day they arrive at their prison. They're drilled into your mind, your soul, your very being until you cannot deny their truth. For 14 year old Sacsha, her determination to torch her living hell has blocked the mantra from embedding itself within her skin. She is special, she knows this, the others know this, Madame B knows this. She just doesn't know how special. Red Room girls are orphans who are taken to be trained because they will not be missed. Sacsha believes her one until she hears Madame B talking to Ivan, "She is just like her mother that one, the only difference will be her unwavering loyalty to us. We will start with the electric chair for her memories tomorrow, we will need her skill set against Natalia. After all, what mother can kill her own daughter?" Sacsha is done being their pet. She will escape, tonight.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov & Original Female Character(s), Clint Barton & Nick Fury, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Original Female Character(s), Nick Fury & Natasha Romanov, Nick Fury & Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character & Original Female Character, Phil Coulson & Nick Fury
Series: City of the Broken [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059500
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Breaking the Chains

The day had started out like any other. Our awakening at five in the morning. The daily ritual of unlocking the cuffs that bound us to our beds, along with our dressing in the uniform of pale blue cotton t-shirts and pants, and ending with the making of our beds with their thin cardboard like blankets, and flattened pillows. At half past five we marched down to the dining room to eat our usual breakfast of bland oatmeal and an overripe apple each. Our meal time ended at six with us promptly standing, pushing the benches back, and heading to our first class, History. An hour and a half lecture on the great Soviet Union and the promise of one the next day on the rise of the KGB. They would teach us only Russian History having to do with the creation of Stalin’s regime, our future employers, the KGB, and how our prison came to be. Our next class was World Literature. We had begun reading the Grimm Brothers fairy tales in German and analyzing how men took advantage of women and their naivety. 

Madame B would say, "This your advantage girls, men will expect nothing from you, which makes you the perfect spies and killers as they will not see past your beauty."

"Da, Madame." We would answer, knowing full well what she meant by this.

We all knew we were nothing more than weapons, a means to an end. But, the key word is weapon, not object, and we were expected to know the difference. We weren't toys as the swine known as man would often use us as. We were deadly weapons that were wielded by our handlers, now the Red Room, later the KGB. Or that was what we believed.

By now it was nine and we walked to what is considered our first "real" class, Weapons and their Uses. Our unnecessary education is taught in the same classroom. But, this one is taught in our armory. The armory is nothing but a room slightly hidden in case of any thieves, the possibility itself was highly unlikely and nearly laughable. We polished our technique with knives by throwing them at a target. Guns were fired at a human shaped target as well, three shots, quick switch to other hand, three shots again. I was the only one who hit the bullseye in both skills every time. Our next weapon, the katana (Indonesian sword), was added to our growing list of capabilities. 

These types of classes are all two hours in length and are easier to get a beating out of. The beatings we would get for a dismal performance were the least of our worries. It was the ones we would get for disobedience that held our concerns. You see, the Red Room trains little orphan girls like myself to be what is considered the "perfect spy". We were chosen because we would not be missed, mourned, or even remembered. One of the qualities of the perfect spy is obedience, to do what they're told and to never question the orders of a superior. Another quality of the perfect spy is unwavering loyalty. That under no circumstance were they to defect or divulge any information to do with the Red Room or the KGB. That had already happened once before, and it was disastrous. 

They would combine the lessons for these qualities together, and give us a beating so bad that we could barely think of questioning orders again. It helped us build a very high pain tolerance so that we would not break under interrogation. Though what they did was nearly always the same for the other girls, they would almost always find a new way to make me scream. Being the Madame's favorite, the other girls hated me as well as most of the other instructors. The fighting instructor in particular, who happened to be in charge of the torture chambers, had a grudge against me for whatever reason. He would enjoy watching me flinch while he ripped off my nails one at a time. Hearing my screams as I hung from the ceiling, suspended in the air by chains wrapped around my wrists, as he whipped my scarred and bare back. He would become excited as he noticed my breath quickening as he would slice my arms, legs, and shoulders open with his dagger. It was one of my first lessons that I quickly learned, never disobey.

The next class was ballet, an art studied at the academy as an intended form of torture, as well as to build our strength. We changed into our navy blue leotards and short sheen skirts before putting on what a lot of little girls in Russia could only dream of having someday, pointe shoes. Russia is known for its ballet training and companies with the Vaganova Ballet Academy, the Bolshoi, and Kirov Ballet, as well as the Mariinsky Theater. We started with a quick but intense stretch, each sliding into our splits, folding our bodies over our toes, and back to reach for our heels. We would do the standard bar warm up with plies, tendus, ronde jambe, and grand battement. Then move to the center for an agonizingly slow adagio, unfolding our legs high into the air and holding it for eight counts in the front, back, and sides, twice. We were constantly on our toes, relying primarily on our two big ones to hold our weight. We danced until our toes bled through our shoes and then some, repeating the same exercise in the center over and over again until Ivan, the co-director, declared it perfect. 

"Again," he would say bored of our performance.

We would continue rising and falling from the balls of our feet to our likely crimson toes.

"Again," he would repeat disinterestedly.

The others would focus on the younger girls kneeling on the side in perfect formation.

"Again," he would announce dismissively, ignoring any signs of fatigue.

But I, I would think of something the Madame had said long ago, "You are made of marble,".

I was made of marble, a beautiful statue that could experience no pain. Only thinking of the graceful movements made by my soft yet strong body. Despite what you may think, I do not hate ballet, I love it. The poise and elegance needed to create the illusion of effortlessness is what I would get lost in. The pain I considered blissful and welcome to ground my mind to earth. But, it was my ability to create those beautiful shapes with my body that drew me in.

We hobbled back to our dorm to change and cleanse our feet of the blood. It was one in the afternoon and time for our meal of mush, a mess that had no discernible taste, but supplied our bodies with the necessary nutrients. At one thirty we made our way to the training room which was nothing more than a concrete jungle stained in blood with a single mat. This was when things had begun to get strange that day. Now I know that everything in that place was beyond strange, it was inhumane, but then, this was my strange. We normally only have death fights once a month to weed out the weak. We had already had one for the month of April last week. But today, Madame B had decided to pit the girls against each other for the second time that month. As always, it was survival of the fittest. Unfortunately for the others, I was the fittest. 

There were only fourteen of us left from the original twenty-eight in our year. I was put against Anya, she was taller than me, heavier, and brawnier. My advantage was in the fact that I was small, fast, agile, quick witted, and a better strategist. We circled each other like animals waiting to pounce. Anya made the first move, a punch to my jaw which I deftly dodged. I sent a well placed kick to her abdomen which made her stumble back a few steps. She moved forward once more, missing the fist she sent to my shoulder but, landing a foot, barely, to my side. I quickly sent an uppercut to her jaw and slammed my knee into her groin. She launched herself forward using her size and weight to pin me down and the fact that my breath was knocked out of me. But, I was smart, I used my small stature to flip us over and sent my hands to her neck while she did the same thing with hers. Though I could feel my airways closing I knew that if I wanted to she could be dead with a flick of my wrist. But, is that what I want? 

"Finish it." Madame B said with indifference.

I looked down at the purplish hue of Anya's desperate face as she attempted to add more strength to her choke.

Leaning over slightly I whispered, "I'm sorry," before snapping her neck, taking a deep breath and standing up.

"Well done," Madame B had said.

But it did not seem like something I should be proud of, I think even then some part of me knew that what I was doing was wrong.

"Spasibo, Madame." 

....

After the trial was over, there were only seven of us left. I knew that this would happen someday soon, to take out the weak and be left with the strong for the next phase of training. The final four years of the academy were crucial for refining technique and the specific skill set we were all taught. 

"Romanova," I heard Madame B call.

"Da, Madame." I had answered. This was even stranger, why was I being addressed individually if not for being sent to the torture chambers or to demonstrate in front of the others?

"You have done very well today. I have been carefully watching your progress and I would like to personally assess your skills later today. Come straight to my office after your last class, and remember, no dawdling."

Hearing the underlying threat I kept my face blank and carefully nodded my head before swiftly turning and walking out of the room. Strange wasn't the right word for this I knew. Why would she want to assess me before the graduation? Then, I understood. The skill I showed during the fight was unmatched by any of the girls in my year. She wants to assess me to see if I could graduate earlier! The revelation was then clouded with a cold sense of dread as I realized what graduating early entails. If I graduate early, the ceremony will be performed early as well!

I walked calmly to the classroom for our extra education despite the storm inside my head. I settled into my seat as the minute hand struck exactly 3:30. I mentally blew out a breath, feeling thankful for avoiding yet another beating. The subject was Science, but it was really just an excuse for the instructor to talk about the human anatomy and demonstrate which were the best points to strike at when wanting to incapacitate, paralyze, or kill, your opponent. When we were younger, Science was where we would learn how to make and disable bombs. It was frustrating picking at multiple wires to figure out which would trigger an explosion and which would prevent one. When we would finish early, we would be given different locks to pick as extra credit.

Our next class was Arithmetic, this class however is only forty-five minutes as it contributes nearly nothing to our shaping as spies. However, this class was twice as hard and mentally challenging as the other ones. We were expected to learn everything a person our age from the outside would and more, ranging from calculus to trigonometry. 

After our lesson in mathematics we trooped down into a room in the basement. It stood in stark contrast to the other classrooms. This one was softly lit by candles with a wide luxurious bed in the center and had tall stools littered throughout. We had no idea what the bed was for or why the same harsh white light did not illuminate this room as it did the others. However, we did not question it, knowing the answer was probably not worth the beating that would follow if asked. This was my least favorite lesson, taught by Ivan Petrovich. He and Madame B called it seduction. Me in my innocence could not truly decipher what this meant. All I knew was that we would change into tight black dresses that clung tightly to our curves and practice speaking in sultry tones while Ivan would call us one by one to sit in his lap and entertain him.

I, of course, did not understand how disgusting this was, all I knew was that I didn't like it. Ivan would make us pet his hair, press our chest into him, and move our hips in circular motions while sitting on him. This particular lesson Ivan was staring at me intensely with an almost predatory glint in his eye. As always I could not show my discomfort, but it was there raging under my skin at his scrutiny. After every lesson I would feel dirtier and tainted from his touch. This one made me leave the room feeling weighted, still feeling the ghost of his gaze.

Following my changing into appropriate clothing for what I was sure was about to ensue, I briskly walked to Madame B's office. Before I entered I stood by the door simply breathing. I heard both the Madame and Ivan inside speaking.

"She has grown up very well. She is the spitting image of Natalia. Every bit the beautiful toy to play with," Ivan said thoughtfully.

"Soon, Ivan. Soon. As soon as the ceremony is complete you will have every chance to play your games," Madame B replied.

I stood there quietly, absorbing the conversation and replaying it in my head. Questions bounced around my skull like, who is Natalia? Why do I look like her? Why did Ivan refer to me as a toy? What will he do to me once the ceremony is complete? I took a steadying breath and knocked on the mahogany door. 

"Romanova, come inside and shut the door," Madame B commanded.

I stepped inside the threshold and softly clicked the door shut. I looked around quickly and caught sight of the fighting instructor, Anatoly. Then I walked over to the other side of the mat laid on the floor. My eyes stared straight ahead as clenched and unclenched my fists in anticipation. 

"I assume you know why you're here Romanova?" Madame B questioned.

I silently gave a nod as my answer. The three of them waited in silence for a moment before I grudgingly gave the acceptable answer.

"Da, Madame."

"Good. I would expect nothing less from the best, and you Romanova are the best."

I silently contemplated her reply and thought it even stranger than the previous happenings. Praise? From the Madame? I watched as Anatoly with all his brawn and height got into position. I mimicked his movements blindly, still confused by the Madame's answer.

"Begin."

I circled to the left as Anatoly did the same, using my time to think up a plan. He was my instructor, he taught me everything, my technique, my favorite pins and holds, and how to block them. I flew forward as I settled on the element of surprise. I landed a swift uppercut and dodged a kick to my side. I scurried out of the way narrowly missing the punches and kicks that were sent in my direction. I grabbed his fist and twisted it using my momentum to latch onto his neck with my thighs and rolling him onto his back. I had to hold him there for ten seconds to finish the fight, but if I was pinned I knew there would be no hesitation to kill me. Then I thought, but what if I want them to? My bout of self loathing loosened my grip on his arm and neck resulting in him flipping me over and pulling me into a choke hold. I thought to myself, I have nothing to live for, after the ceremony there is no one who will come after me, I have no friends, no parents, not even a place to call home. I tapped out subconsciously, only coming to the realization when I was released, breathing heavily and leaning on my knees.

"Sloppy." 

I heard Madame B say.

"Pretending to fail."

How did she know?

"The ceremony is necessary for you to take your place in the world."

Strange is the mediocre description for my situation. It's almost as if she can read my mind, I thought as I automatically replied,

"I have no place in the world."

"Exactly."

Only Madame B knew that she had repeated those exact same words to a girl before her. A girl named Natalia Alianovna Romanova.

"We will celebrate after the ceremony tomorrow."

My shock was difficult to contain as I looked up at Madame B.

"Spasibo, Madame," I replied.

"Go to your room and prepare your things. After the ceremony you will begin your employment."

I nodded once to show my understanding and walked out of the room with my heart in my throat. Where was I going? Why tomorrow? What celebration? What does this all mean? I stopped outside the door after I closed it to catch my breath and let my mask crack to show the strange mixture of emotions in my face. I guess everything was strange today. Then, I heard something that piqued my interest, another conversation between Ivan and Madame B.

"Have you contacted our new associates?" Madame B asked.

"Da. They will come at noon tomorrow to collect her," Ivan answered.

"Good. She will be their test subject. The Winter Soldier is one of their successors. The perfect assassin. Cold, heartless, ruthless, obedient. They say they can make her the same. She is just like her mother that one, the only difference will be her unwavering loyalty to us. We will start with the electric chair for her memories tomorrow, we will need her skill set against Natalia. After all, what mother can kill her own daughter? To the beginning of a new partnership."

"Hail Hydra," Ivan announced.

"Hail Hydra." Madame agreed.

I ran as stealthily as I could back to our quarters. I hurriedly grabbed the burlap knapsack sitting at the foot of my bed and stuffed my things in it hurriedly. In went my two uniforms, underclothes, a piece of elastic I used to tie my hair back, my leotard and pointe shoes (maybe I will be find somewhere to dance), my little black dress (there may be a use for it later on), and my most precious possession, my gun, a Glock 19 I favored due to the ease of the shot. I buckled it closed, took a breath and placed a stoic expression on my face. I did not know why I packed the items I did, where I would go, where today went wrong, or what Hydra even was. All I did know was that I needed to get out before the ceremony. My mother's name was Natalia. And that I was going to take revenge on everyone who assisted in this operation. So that they never do that to anyone again.

I pushed the bag under the iron bed frame and stood with purpose. I walked out of the dormitory already forming a plan in my head. This wasn't going to be easy, I knew. Just getting through the first step was highly dangerous, the second near impossible. But I wasn't going down without a fight. As I floated down the grand mahogany staircase overlooking the ballet studio I know that for certain. As I sat in my place at the wooden bench pushed up to the table I knew I wasn't going alone. As I looked down at my plate of tough chicken, carrots, beans, and rice I knew that this wasn't only for me. This was as much for everyone else as it was for me. This was for the younger girls sitting at the next table so that they wouldn't have more red in their ledger. So that they wouldn't become me, a weapon, a toy, and a vicious killer so deeply in her dance of death she couldn't stop.

Sacsha Zarina Romanova was escaping. Fourteen year-old Sacsha was finally breaking the chains, and she was doing it tonight.


	2. Let’s Blow this Joint

After dinner was over we pushed the benches back once more to make our way to our dormitory in silence. The younger girls marched off to theirs with glum faces. The braver ones attempted to whisper to their friends. They were scolded severely by one of the instructors, another thing you learn here at the academy, do not speak unless spoken to. We were in a perfect line, silently making our way to the dormitory as usual. I couldn't help but think that we were like robots, following orders and speaking with programmed phrases. I was in the middle of the single file when we were stopped. Ivan was standing there with something in his hands, my vision obscured by the shadows of the other girls in the dimly lit hallway. 

"Romanova, may I speak with you for a moment?" Ivan said.

It sounded like a request, but I knew what would happen if I disobeyed. I silently made my way to Ivan, my footfalls barely heard.

"Girls, continue." 

He said it like this was one of our ballet routines. Just a slight pause then we continue our movements as though we never stopped. This is a living hell, I shuddered inwardly. They began to move once more, footsteps in sync, left right left right. Exactly like a dance, a dance of death about to meet its coda. 

"Your suit," Ivan said, turning to me, "following the ceremony you will be allowed a period of rest lasting two hours. You will then be meeting me in my chambers for the celebration. I suggest bringing your suit with you as well as I am not sure you will have time to return to the dormitory to change." He said with a smirk.

I was hoping to be gone by tomorrow, but this thought alone made my stomach turn. I don't even want to think about what would happen if I was caught. From my imagination and experience, whatever Ivan was planning tomorrow would be ten times worse if I was caught, not to mention Anatoly and the Madame. I wasn't religious but I quickly sent a prayer up to any god, deity, or spirit in the heavens.

I nodded my reply maintaining a blank face. Luckily, Ivan didn't notice my silent answer, otherwise I was sure I would have received a sharp slap. Instead, he was eyeing my breasts only adding to my discomfort. He handed me a folded black tactical suit and gave me permission to return to the dorm. As I was walking past him I felt the slap meant for my face on my butt.

"Good evening, Romanova," He said, smirking.

I felt compelled to freeze, to root myself to my spot to process the filthy touch. But of course, I kept going. A good little Red Room girl. I thought back to what Madame B told us when we first started our lessons over a decade ago.

"You are weapons, lethal to the touch. You are wielded by the Red Room, and later by the organization who gave you a home, the KGB. You are the protectors of Mother Russia," She had said.

I guess we were only weapons with a lethal touch to outsiders. Here we were objects, what Madame had said are used by the swine that is man. Even as protectors of the mother country we were still nothing. I thought of this as I walked down the hallway, subconsciously making my way to lay on my bed, my arms positioned above my head, ready to be cuffed. It was then I decided that no one, not even the girls speaking in whispers about me, should have to be treated like this. I had always lived at the academy, I was born and now bred here. But this isn't right. We shouldn't be treated like this. I, as the favorite was already too far gone, but the others, the young ones still had a chance to start over. I was nothing, today had proved that. They were something, and deserved a chance at normalcy.

The guard came in and cuffed us to our beds. When he had chained everyone he turned off the light and walked out, slamming the door shut. I knew that in order for my plan to work I would have to wait until most everyone was asleep. I laid there, reciting my plan over and over again in my head. I had hidden a rusty nail I found wedged between the floorboards underneath my pillow so I could pick the lock on my cuffs. But inevitably, my thoughts returned to Ivan and Madame B's conversation outside her office. I wasn't stupid. If I looked like the woman, Natalia, that Ivan mentioned, then that could only mean the one thing I dreaded. She is my mother.

I should be happy, overjoyed at the thought of my mother being alive. Instead I was overcome by doubt, sadness, and self loathing. It was obvious to me that Ivan and Madame B knew her personally, and from the way he talked about her, he saw her as an object like us. Natalia was a student here at the academy, this explained my early existence in this hell hole. I didn't know where she was now, but it sounded like I would soon if my plan didn't succeed. Though I knew I couldn't do it, kill my own mother. From all of this I was able to conclude one more thing, she was the one who had defected from the Red Room, the KGB, all of it. She had made a fresh start for herself, away from the evil of Ivan and the Madame. I didn't want to intercept it.

I was in too deep. I knew that the moment she saw me she would hate me. I was a reminder of her past and I know from mine, it is far from pleasant. I wouldn't want to make her relive those memories because I had decided I needed a mother. I had been alone from the moment I was born, taking care of myself and adapting, surviving. Besides that, I am broken. I had tried to forget those words Madame B had spoken in her office. She says them everyday, and we parrot back the same response. But, in there, it was different. It felt, true. What mother would want a weapon as a child. She would want one of the young women in the Grimm Brothers tales as a daughter. With beautiful soft features, purity, and an innocence still intact. Mine had been stripped long ago. I could think like this later, now was not the time to tear myself apart. It was time to harden my exterior in preparation for the breakout. I knew one thing though, I would never try to find my mother and if I did, I would run, I was good at that.

"You are made of marble."

With those words ringing in my head I carefully reached under the pillow for the nail. With a few twists of my wrist I was able to get a steady grip on it, careful not to drop it. I then inserted it into the lock on the cuffs, feeling around for a few painstaking moments. It softly clicked signaling the release of my wrist. It was much easier to pick the other cuff with one hand unbound. Once I was free I carefully swung my legs over the mattress and grabbed my knapsack from under the bed. I rummaged in it, finally pulling out my pistol. In that moment, I was truly grateful for all the trouble I had gone through to obtain this. I was only twelve when I decided I needed to keep something more than a knife by my bedside. With good reason of course. The week before I had awoken to a girl whose friend I had killed in another one of Madame B's death fights strangling me. I had my knife on me but it was of no use while I was cuffed. I most likely would have died if one of the other girls hadn't alerted the guard.

I haven't slept peacefully since, ready to jump at the smallest of sounds, waking up several times at night to scan my surroundings. The next week I smuggled a gun out of the armory, figuring that if something like this would happen again, I could shoot the attacker or at least alert the guards. I figured the consequences were better than death. Lets just say a lot has changed since then.

I stood up and pulled off my pajamas to reveal the black suit Ivan had given me earlier, stuffing the pajamas in my sack. I made my way to the bed of a girl I knew I could trust enough to do this. I quickly picked her locks, releasing her, fully aware that every single girl in the dormitory was awake by now. 

"Take out the guard by our door. Don't ask any questions. If you run to Madame B or Ivan you will not live to see the light of day," I whispered harshly.

The girl, Zanya, quickly got up and silently snapped the guards neck before dragging his body inside. Now that I knew there wasn't anybody close by to eavesdrop on what I was to say, I began.

"I know you all hate me. Believe me, I don't harbor a love for any of you either, we all know this, love is for children," I looked down at each of their beds before continuing, "But, I do believe there is something better out there for all of us."

At this I get a few scoffs and snorts. I stand up straighter, steeling my gaze, and locking my shoulders back.

"Whether you want to or not I am leaving. I am taking the younger girls with me as well, they deserve better. It is up to you, join me and start anew, or stay and help the academy," I gave a humorless chuckle, "If you do I will not hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes."

I fingered the butt of my Glock as I waited for a response. I did not want to have to kill any of them, I had already killed half of our class, but I would in order to save the younger children and any who joined me. I waited for a response. Finally, a girl named Masha spoke up.

"Why do this? Wouldn't it make more sense to escape alone? Unless, you are the one that plans to sell us out. Another way to test our loyalties, perhaps?"

"I have my reasons. I decided to save your skin, not flay it. Just be thankful for it. If this was an order from the Madame you would be dead already for daring to open your mouth. So, do we all agree to this?" Once again, I scanned the room, awaiting a response. This time another girl , Svetlana, answered.

"I will join you. But this alliance is temporary. Once we are out I don't want you coming to me claiming I owe you a debt."

I snorted, "Like I said before, I have my own reasons. This is just a matter of who joins me."

I walked over to her bed and released her cuffs as well, doing the same for each agreement and temporary truce. I glanced towards Anya's bed, she would have been running with us tonight if it weren't for me, I thought. I turned towards the seven of us left, including me, and quickly explained my plan. Masha, Sofya, Olya, and Vera quietly opened the door and silently left down the hall for the younger girls' dormitory. Zanya and Svetlana were with me, racing in the opposite direction. Bozhe moi, I thought, we're really doing this.

....

We soundlessly sped down the corridor towards the armory. Staying in the shadows to avoid detection by the occasional guard patrolling the halls. As expected, there were two guards flanking either side of the armory door. Me and Zanya crept up beside either of them and snapped their necks before they could utter a sound. I handed Svetlana the nail and she picked the several locks on the door. The door clicked open and we quickly scanned the area before creeping inside. We had about ten minutes, if my estimation was correct, before the next patrol passed by. 

"Quickly, grab your weapons and a few for the others. Tonight you aren't alone." I reminded them hastily. We were usually lone wolves, but tonight we were a pack.

I hurriedly stuffed another Glock 19 into my holster, the twin to my stolen one. Three daggers made their way onto my belt along with the smallest katana on the rack. I fill any remaining space in my sack with ammo and stuff a few into my holster. Svetlana and Zanya do the same and add extras for the rest of the girls. I sneak away from them while they fill their own sacks and come to a shelf full of bombs and grenades. I take 3 bombs with timers; those were essential. I also take two hand grenades as backup. I went back to the entrance and waved Svetlana and Zanya over. We had to hurry or we would be caught by the patrols.

Zanya had already dragged the guards bodies into the armory but their lack of presence would cause suspicion. We had to hurry. We raced down the hallways, sticking to the shadows like demons, which I guess we were. We were supposed to meet Masha with the others and the younger girls at the door to our dormitory. Before we left the area, I planted my first bomb, set to go off after twenty minutes. The plan was falling into place. Then, I sped after Zanya. We arrived at the dorm to find Masha, Olya, Sofya, and Vera already there with twenty four girls in tow. We hurried inside and shut the door. As I looked at the young ones, I can't help but think I had failed them. If I had just gotten into my head to escape sooner, four young children may still be alive. I am selfish to only escape when it got bad for me. 

I shook these thoughts out of my head and got down to business. This was our only chance at this. I took a breath and became what the world wanted me to be, a cold-hearted assassin. 

You are made of marble.

No longer the Madame's voice, but this time my own. I am marble. My eyes became cold and distant, my stance of steel, and my aura ruthless and unmerciful. I organized the younger girls into groups of four. Each group had a leader of either Zanya, Masha, Svetlana, Sofya, Vera, Olya, or me. My group was a group of three, but if the others had any complaints they kept it to themselves. Though we all had the same skill set they knew I was the best. Besides for tonight we were allies.

"Stay with your leader. Do not leave their side. Keep your hands joined at all times and run straight to the entrance. Do not, under any circumstance, go to Madame B or Ivan, is that understood?" 

A chorus of yeses came my way followed by silence. It seems to them, I was not to be contradicted. My heart dropped a bit at that. I did not want to be like Madame or Ivan. But for tonight this was necessary. 

"Well, what are we waiting for? As the Americans say, let's blow this joint." I announce with a sadistic grin.

At this I get a few snorts and determined looks met my eyes. It was meant as a joke, but it wasn't. Tonight it was the truth.

Let's blow this joint.


End file.
